[rfurtkamp]

You know, when I open and close the gun shop on occasion, I'm not worried about the drug addled loser trying to sneak up into my blind spot as I dash for the alarm console.

No, I'm worried about the 600-some odd firearms in cases ready to lash out at me. They've been there ignored and maligned and ready to assault the first person they see.

Somehow I've managed unscathed these many hundreds of times now - but sooner or later, I'll zig when I should have zagged, and that's the last you'll have heard from me.

Or my Uzi will be mad I didn't shoot it last week, and beat me when I come home.

It's a wonder I'm around guns. I must be a victim of gun-related domestic violence where I'm cowed in their presence and feel worthless without their evil embrace.

 

[rfurtkamp]

I'll be honest here - I was a bad child. I had every advantage. It didn't matter. Some of that little voice that says "don't" I never had - what most people intrinsically had, I didn't. I developed a very, very rigid ethical code over the years that's served me very well, but it's still not based on the same sorts of things as 'normal' people.

There are some bad apples, some of which turn out to be OK applesauce a few years down the road. But there are some folks that are just beyond hope.